Offerings

  • This is the companion piece to Rites, written at the request of Stephanie. The point of view changes from the female to the male. The story is different but also grounded in the same world as Rites. And as with Rites, there’s nothing much too it beyond a celebration of the erotic. Enjoy.

tumblr_l2939awVts1qb0nyxo1_500The high Priestess came for us on the eve of the summer solstice—always, the boys who had come of age. And every year the boys would return to the village refusing to speak of anything that had happened. As did all the boys before us, we made plans. We argued amongst ourselves. We imagined laying traps. We imagined escapes through windows and back doors. We assigned the places we would meet—the hideaways. Preatorious, the tallest and strongest of the boys, boasted what he would do: that no priestess would ever take him from his home. He nodded at me: I, the smallest of the boys. You? he said. Like picking a fig. They’ll make a priestess out of you.
The other boys laughed.
We vowed that none of us would be taken. Our plans were made. We would say nothing and give none a reason for suspicion. And so when the High Priestess and her acolytes, girls our own ages, came to our village early in the evening, to feast and to celebrate, we acted as though we were no more interested than if the high priestess were a dollmaker. Indeed, she brought the younger girls of the village gifts and trickets. She favored them, kissed them, and acted as if she were as little interested in the boys or men than if they were merely slaves and servants of the high priestess’s temple. At the close of the feasting, however, she brought forth a cask of wine, broke it, and poured it forth. She passed the wine to the men and to us, but to no boys younger than us.
May the sun favor your fields, she said. May it shine upon your backs and shoulders. May its warmth fill your brows and sine forth from your eyes. May the strength of the sun be in your muscles, thighs, buttocks and breasts. May you be endowed with the sun’s bounty and fecundity. There is nothing on Earth that does not receive equally of the Sun’s bounty. So may you give your bounty equally to all—men and to women.
The men and women cheered and drank heartily. So did we. And in this drink was our downfall.
As the evening passed into night, we became like ones who were drunk. We stumbled. We laughed. We were hot and cold. We were confused and attentive. We were diffident and lascivious. We were naïve to a game played by all the men and women before us. The women danced with us and our groins became thick knots of confusion. We pretended not to notice even as the women slyly laughed with us, let us brush against their hips, let us feel their breasts against our chests. They would not let us rest. When we were younger, when we had had no interest in the drink or dancing of men and women, we had always run off to plot and skirmish among ourselves and the younger boys. We scurried in the shadows.
By nightfall, the men and women giddily vanished. We, as if intoxicated by more than the wine, retreated sheepishly to our rooms. Our foreheads were damp, our hips heavy. In the secretive dark our pricks were thick and erect, we had only begun to relieve our delirious new agony when the priestess found us.
She had sent two temple servants to each of our rooms. When they found me I had already disrobed and lay on my bed. My prick was upright in my hand as if its tumescence tormented me. I frantically tried to cover myself with my discarded robe but the two women laughed at me. If not for the confusion of my prick, and disarmed by the women’s smiles, I might have defended myself. I panicked. Too late. They laughingly overpowered me. They rolled me over as I screamed into the straw-stuffed pillow. They secured my wrists behind me, ignoring kicking and flailing legs. I froze when one of them took hold of my prick. One of them had her hand between my shoulder blades, forcing me face down, the other lifted my buttocks, reached under me, a slipped a noose over my balls.
I didn’t dare struggle.
They rolled me onto my back. I saw one of them holding a fine gold chain, like a leash, attached to a leather and gold threaded collar around my balls. Don’t be afraid, silly boy she said, her voice surprisingly deep. The tether merely symbolizes the thread of light that is already there, that draws the Earth and Sun together.
I remained confused, but when she gently tugged at my balls, I quickly followed her. I burned with the desire to hide. She led me plainly into the small village square. My prick stood before my belly unabated. I heard the tittering laughter of girls hiding in the bushes, their whispers, their momentary silences as they gazed at my prick.
Why are you embarrassed? asked the woman leading me.
I blushed furiously.
You are beautiful, she said. Look how trim you are. Look how muscular you have become. Do you not feel how powerfully your hips and groin captivate them? Look how broad your chest as become! What girl would not want to rest her cheek there? Look at how strong your buttocks have become. What woman would not want to hold them as they flexed between her thighs?
I burned. I tried to look at my feet but only say my cock. I turned my gaze upward and ahead. I saw my other companions, all of them chained just as I was. We were brought before the banquet table at which, now, only the high Priestess sat. None of us looked at the other. All our plans and defiant schemes lay discarded like toys and silly games.
The offerings are filthy, said the High Priestess. Wash and oil them!
We waited and when no one stirred the High Priestess stood, chin raised, smiled and sharply clapped her hands.
Come out, little ones! she half-laughed. The high priestess won’t ask again!
And then the village girls who had been tittering in the shadows, one by one, came out of hiding. I recognized them all. They came into the moonlight, half on their toes, glancing nervously, their wrists fluttering at their hips.
There is the oil, said the High Priestess. She pointed to seven finger bowls on the table. But first, you must clean them. There is the water and fresh linens.
She pointed seven larger bowels with white cloths neatly folded beside them. One by one, the girls went to the water and linens. There were one or two to each of us. One girl stood behind me. The girl in front was Sequanus. We had been bitter rivals as children, but now she fetched my eyes in ways I had never imagined. She was eager to claim her place before me. She and the other girl each dipped a square of linen into the bowl. As if our cleaning were game and sacred rite, the girls’ attentiveness was both teasing and earnest. Their touch was soft. They wiped our shoulders and backs slowly and attentively, following muscle and the contours of hips and spine. The girl behind me dipped her linen into the water more than once as she wiped my buttocks. The pressed her fingers and cloth into the divide. She lingered, wiping and pressing. Sequanus bit her lip when my cock powerfully twitched.
We she, kneeling, took hold of my cock and gently wrapped the linen round it I nearly cried out. She drew back the skin with her lower hand and began to gently clean the crown of my cock with the other. I shuddered. I wanted to plead with her. The girl behind me reached under my armpits. She pinched both my nipples as if cleaning them. She bent. Rinsed the linen. Stood. Reached round again. Placed her palm at my abdomen and pressed the linen, once more against and into my anus. My eyes rolled and I shook. I squealed. My cock powerfully twitched and both girls reacted with a sharp glee. A single spurt of my own semen, the appearance of which was as novel to me as to the girls, \ dampened the ground over Sequanus’s shoulder. The remnants dribbled down the length of my cock. I once more burned with the shame of my vulnerability.
Sequanus gazed up at me as if keenly studying my expressions, once more drawing the linen over my cock, once more cleaning me as I trembled. This done, the water bowls were put away and she returned with oil. She and her companion dipped their fingers into the bowls and slowly, warmly, kneaded the fragrant unction into my back, abdomen, and buttocks. Our skin, warmed by their hands and the oil, began to gleam and glow in the flickering firelight.
Oil, commanded the High Priestess. Leave nothing untouched by oil.
As if repeating what had gone before, Sequanus, having begun at my ankles, then calves, then thighs, returned delicately to my cock. Her companion, having started in my hair, then ears, cheeks, lips, mouth, throat, chest, nipples, abdomen, belly button, circled back and arrived at my anus. Anticipating what each meant next, my breath came in short bursts. Sequanus cupped my balls. Oil pooling in her other hand, she slowly glazed my cock from base to tip. Her palm and fingers closed around the crown of my cock. Her companion dipped two fingers in the bowel before finding my anus. My head feel back as she pressed them both deeply inside me. Once more I groaned. As if her fingers in my anus pressed a hidden reservoir, semen rolled out of my cock and descended thickly over my balls.
To do anymore was forbidden.
They turned their attention to their next task with an enjoyment that might have exceeded what had come before. They carefully arranged my hair, parting it, coifing and lifting it into curls. They placed flowers in my hair as if I were a life-size doll of the kind they had always played with. They tied necklaces around my waist, ankles and wrists. The necklaces were woven out of vine and flowers. They touched my lips with the rouge of berries and made sidelong glances at each others work as if in competition. They tied the smallest necklace round my cock. With a tortuous effort to restrain her giggling, the girl behind me pressed the stem of a flower into my anus.
My cock twitched, shaming me.
Then biting their lips, and with a seeming reluctance, Sequanus and her companion, a girl from the neighboring village, returned the bowls to the table and stood questioningly next to it. The High Priestess stood once more and clapped her hands.
You, she said to one of the girls. You. And you. One by one she picked seven girls. Among them was Sequanus. She lifted Sequanus’s chin with a finger. I am not unwise, said the High Priestess with a knowing smile. I observe. I miss nothing. And have marked your service and devotion.
The High Priestess turned and clapped her hands again. Be gone! she said to the other girls. Once they had melted into the surrounding darkness, the High Priestess said simply: We go now.
In this wise, we were walked out of the village, each of us drawn by the golden tether still tugging our balls. We walked like captured and conquered, naked, satyrs, cocks rising like hooks from our bellies. The high priestess was first, then each of us led by a captor, and then the temple’s entourage.
The temple was perhaps a quarter mile’s walk in the moonlight. As we approached, the great white doors opened. We were led inside and directly into a great hall, high ceilinged and broad. There were seven marble slabs no more than a hand’s width above the floor. But the one in the middle was unlike the others. The one in the middle was not marble but a kind of sculpture made from intricately worked copper, silver and gold—an image of the sun as though the sun were a man or a God. His arms were spread above him, his legs spread below. He was in the center of the Temple’s floor. The only anatomy missing was his groin. The other platforms were like the six planets orbiting the sun.
We were brought to the middle of the great hall and made to stand in a row. We still burned with the visibility of our cocks before so many females. None of us had been relieved of the agony that mysteriously engorged them. The high priestess, her servants and her acolytes were divested themselves of their robes. They were naked but for gold and silver waist bracelets. A jewel hung from the bracelets, each at the nook of their thighs. Their breasts were oiled and their nipples thick. Our own hips and cocks were inflamed by the site of them.
The High Priestess approached us, starting with the left-most boy.
With a knowing smile she took his cock in her hand and seemed to measure its girth with a slow slide of her grip. She did this to each of us, each of us panting and swallowing at her touch, and commented on each of us. When she held me, her chin high and proud, she gazed at me commandingly.
tumblr_lya7zuOIUw1r9m31so2_1280You are the smallest in stature, she said, but not your cock. Your cock is nearly the largest in stature. What do you think of that? I blushed with an absurd mixture of embarrassment and pride. Then she said quietly but warmly: Let us hope the stature of your heart is as large as your cock. Any man may penetrate a woman, but never so truly or deeply as by his heart.
When she had weighed and spoken to the last of us, she returned to the center of the hall. Shall I have my acolytes produce your elixir? Shall I decide which of you shall be chosen by the forcefulness with which you produce your elixir?
She smiled to herself. No, she said.
She pointed to Preatorious, the largest in size both in body and cock. Place him in the center, she said.
What proceeded next astonished us. We dared not speak. The central platform, which was an image of the Sun, opened like a sarcophagus. Upon seeing this, Preatorious struggled but to no avail. The priestess’s servants, the most able and strongest, lay him in the sarcophagus, wrist and ankles trapped within the images spread arms and legs. Though he struggled, they closed the sarcophagus. It was as if the living Sun-God lay in the Temple’s great hall. His copper, silver and gold image was completed with a living cock and balls. And the Sun-God’s cock rose straight from his groin and twitched. Each of us were then taken to one of the three platforms to either side. Our wrists and ankles were fastened to the corners.
A door, opposite to the one in which we entered, opened and we saw three acolytes, girls our own age, enter into the hall. They were beautiful. They wore thin shawls which concealed none of the nakedness beneath. They wore only waist bracelets and tiny jewels hung from their pierced nipples. I saw Sequanus and could not take my gaze from her breasts, nor the jewel dangling from the shorn cut between her thighs. I groaned helplessly and lay my head back. A thick trickling bubbled from my cock.
I was ashamed by my helplessness.
I was ashamed by the nakedness of my cock.
I was ashamed that my cock could hide nothing from Sequanus or any of the attendant girls and women.
All of us lay revealed.
You have been chosen for the term of one month to serve the Temple, the High Priestess said to the girls. She walked behind a girl named Vivonus, who had lately always seemed to seek the company of Preatorious. Go to him, said the High Priestess. The tall woman gave Vivonus a little push, her hands on the smaller girl’s shoulders.
Vivonus approached Preatorious, or was it the Sun-God? She approached until she stood between the Sun-God’s spread legs. She herself wore a wreath of flowers in her hair and appeared to me like the Earth herself. She knelt before the Sun and lowered her head to the Temple’s checkered floor. Then, still kneeling, she leaned only a little forward and kissed the Sun-God’s cock. The sun’s cock leapt and she kissed it again. Her lips parted, mesmerized.
He is yours, said the High Priestess. Take from him what is rightfully yours. He cannot keep it from you.
She took the Sun-God’s cock in her mouth.
I had never seen or imagined such a thing. I too was mesmerized. The girl’s motions grew ever more hungry and urgent until the Sun-God uttered a muffled groan and the girl’s eyes grew wide with surprise. She stopped moving without breaking the seal of her lips. The cock in her mouth twitched rhythmically. On her hands and knees, buttocks lifted behind her, she silently received the Sun-God’s offering, cheeks filling, until his twitching ceased, At last she leaned on her haunches, swallowing, pressing a finger to her lips. When she lifted it a web of semen followed and fell to her chin and breasts.
The Sun-God’s cock still erect, weeping with its offering.
The Sun’s bounty is endless, said the High-Priestess. Take what belongs to you. It is not in his power to refuse you. Your power his greater than His.
Vivonus stood and lifted the sheer shawl. She turned, so that she faced away from the Sun-God, and gracefully straddled him, back arching. She pointed the God’s phallus between her thighs. After a moment’s hesitation, as if finally cognizant of what she did for the first time, she lowered herself with a gutteral piercing that echoed in the Temple.
Let the sun rise! said the High Priestess.
By some unseen mechanical device, the Sun-God, with the Earth astride him, was lifted until his parted legs were waist high. The High Priestess stepped between his legs. Two servants hurried to her side. I was astonished to see them attach a large, golden phallas, larger than any of our penises, to the High Priestess’s groin. The second of the two servants oiled the golden phallus. When they gracefully stepped away, the High Priestess took one step forward and aimed the Phallus’s tip at the Sun-God’s anus. With a hand at the small of her neck, the High Priestess drew the girl into a kiss. At the same moment she pressed the giant Phallus forward. The Sun-God groaned loudly and suddenly as the phallus abruptly opened and penetrated him. The girl’s eyes also widened as if the phallus driven into the Sun-God also drove his phallus more deeply into her.
The girl didn’t move.
All the while, the High Priestess thrust and kissed the girl’s lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her throat and nipples. Gradually her thrusting grew more urgent. The girl began to pant. The Sun-God grunted loudly with each thrust and then roared. The High Priestess pressed her golden Phallus deeply into the Sun-God and held it there. The girl screamed, arching as her womb filled with the Sun-God’s powerful eruptions. The High Priestess held her by the hair, a hand at the back of her head, making sure both offering and sacrifice was consummated.
When the High Priestess released Vivonus and withdrew the gleaming cock from within the Sun-God, the girl languorously ground her womb against the Sun-God’s pelvis, moving as if under a soporific spell.
The High Priestess spoke to the other girls. Take what is rightfully yours! she said.
I struggled to escape, to overcome my helplessness. Then arched powerlessly when Sequinus’s mouth enclosed my cock. She gazed at me inquisitively, missing nothing, as I began to tremble. I fell back to the marble when she released me. She gazed at me wonderingly and curiously. She leaned over and kissed my stomach. She leaned forward, her own belly grazing the tip of my cock, and sucked at my nipples. She licked my throat and kissed me. She moved back down. She tasted my armpits with quick licks and a bite. She tucked her tongue between my ribs. She moved down and took my balls, one by one, into her mouth, as though tasting their weight and fullness. She leaned back on her haunches. She held my cock and pressed the tip of her thumb’s fingernail into the tip.
I arched again, wrists and ankles pulling at their confinement. Only my heels and head touched the marble. She held me like that, as if spellbound, as a wet serpent, called by her and her alone, coiled out of my balls and corkscrewed into my cock. At the last moment she released me and I screamed, jolted by a single spasm that expelled semen as far as my throat, lips and forehead. I panted for breath as she, still holding my cock, licked the effluent from my belly, breast, and throat.
Her expression was like one possessed.
Her eyelids were heavy, lips parted and her nipples full. Though my own muscles strained powerfully in their confinement, hers had become all the more flexible and yielding. She straddled me and aimed my cock at the dark division between her thighs. Her lips parted with a nearly silent cry. Her body split by the impalement of my cock. I was enveloped by the heat and succor of her womb.
I moaned.
A smile flickered before her expression changed once again. As if to become accustomed to the unexpected size, her movements were hesitating and shy at first. But then her expression changed to a kind of agonized wonder. Her rise and fall became faster and more confident. Some small vestige of pride defied by bondage. I refused to be bested by this girl—shier, smaller, and quieter. I strained and lifted myself from the marble but she paid no attention. How gently and subtly she did what she did. She closed her eyes, arched, threw back her head. She pinched and squeezed her own nipples. She fell forward, palms against my chest, her long hair silkily licking my eyes and lips.
The jewels of her pierced nipples grazed my own.
My struggles ended in a trembling inhalation. The wet serpent was coiling in my balls, spiraling into my abdomen and corkscrewing once more into my cock. This time I knew it would not be contained. She called the serpent from its hiding place with the promise of her breasts and womb.

tumblr_m4nb2njRKn1qzt6cxo1_1280
My eyes rolled. She pressed her thumb into my mouth. Her motion slowed. She rose as if her womb, with the lightest motion, could suck the unfurling serpent from my abdomen. I felt her lips on mine. The core of my own being shuddered in the core of hers. I screamed. Each surrender lifted my buttocks and shoulders from the marble. I felt her breath at my ear and the whispering of my name.
All of us were left exhausted and motionless.
Our cocks finally lay half tumescent and pooling on our stomachs.
Release them, said the High Priestess.
We stood. A lesser Priestess stood behind Sequanus with her hands on my lover’s shoulders. Sequanus’s thighs were glistening and dripping with my moisture—her body filled with my own.
I and the other young men were led out of the Temple.
Our cock and balls and been released from the golden chains, but the High Priestess’s words thrummed in my ears. I felt the chain as surely as if it had never been removed. The whole of my being, every step I took, moved with the knowledge of Sequanus.
I was like a sun walking from the temple.
I burned with new-kindled desire. I thought only of my little Earth, my Sequanus, my lover, for whose companionship I already yearned, for whom my cock already stirred, thickened and straightened. Without her I was nothing. I was like the companionless star of the milkyway. I yearned for the little planet who had secretly orbited me. I and my companions walked bereft of our boyhood games. We each vowed to return in one month’s time, tethered as we were to the wondrous awakening within the High Priestess’s Temple.

William Crimson | September 9 2017

Latest Comments

  1. Stephanie says:

    Thank you for writing this! :) I love this so much! This line captures the spirit for me: “I felt the chain as surely as if it had never been removed.”
    Amen ;)

    • willcrimson says:

      Thanks Stephanie. I wonder if readers prefer reading the experiences of women more than men — in terms of first person? Didn’t get the same response form this story as compared to the first one. :)

  2. Ena says:

    I like it a lot, but it is indeed very different from what you usually write..

    ” She called the serpent from its hiding place with the promise of her breasts and womb.” works as one sentence sex too

  3. Cille says:

    I like hearing both points of view. And I like these two stories very much. It’s early or I might have something more profound to say.

  4. Meghan says:

    I really enjoyed this one. You always do such a good job setting the scene.

    • willcrimson says:

      Thank you Meghan. :) Sorry I’m just now getting to your comment. My hunch is that the readers we’ve ‘curated’ are more in the M/f readership, not F/m. But sometimes men like to be boys. :)

  5. caryatid2141 says:

    I think I like this one more than the one about the girls. The girls were more obediently passive and less aware of their loss of power. The shame in the boys’ exposure and vulnerability in that; their own surprised and at least partly unwilling pleasure was emotionally satisfying. And sexy. It is the reason (or one of them) that blown jobs are so much fun to give; the receiver has to give up power; they are vulnerable in that.

    • willcrimson says:

      That’s such an interesting comment, and true. So, reflecting on why I wrote them the way I did. I don’t normally like making women powerless. I always like women to be in on the game and always think it makes the erotica more exciting and just better. The theme of the powerful/powerless/innocent woman/girl submitting to the sexually omniscient male is so prevalent as to be a stock theme, if not outright clichéd. That said, I get its appeal (undying) and flirt with it myself. [Cough.Tentacle.] So when I write stories about powerless women I find myself looking for ways to subvert, in some way, the expected tropes. In the case of Rites, the story almost excludes the male. For all we know, the boys on the other side of the wall are as new to the game as the girls; but we only have the girls’ perspective in that particular story (though maybe I should write the boys’ perspectives?). I also resisted the notion of shame when it came to the girls. This too is a well-worn trope — the “shamed girl forgets all qualms and shame and realizes her true purpose in life once male cock is inside” trope. If the girls had been ashamed of or resisted what was happening to them, then the story would have been quite different—flirting with rape/non-consensual sex. So I more or less excluded men altogether. The power remained with the women in the women’s temple despite the girls’ [admittedly absurd] guilelessness [another erotic trope]. So, I did actually think of all those elements when writing the first story. But shame is a powerful aphrodisiac under the right circumstances and in the right story, so I have no problem shaming my female characters into orgasm. :)

      Just because of sexual dynamics in our current culture [right or wrong], it was easier to write the “shame/powerless/NC” story from a man’s perspective. We don’t usually read stories about shamed men overpowered and “shamed into orgasm” by women—nothing like unwilling pleasure. I’ll bet that if I had reversed the sexes in the second story, it wouldn’t have had nearly the same effect: overpowered/drugged virgin girls marched off to be enjoyed by adolescent men and powerful male priest?

      So anyway, I don’t write all that to defend myself, only to share with you my thought process when writing these two stories, and how pre-existing tropes (and their avoidance) shaped the stories.

  6. caryatid2141 says:

    Will, my comment was not a criticism of the girls’ story at all; I think you did all those things you mentioned beautifully. And you managed to pull off the ritual deflowering of a bunch of obedient maidens erotically and without raising my feminist hackles, which is pretty impressive. Not that my hackles shouldn’t have been raised really (nor that stories that do are necessarily stories I don’t like. Tentacle. Cough). It was a very sweet story.

    Sweet just doesn’t necessarily do As much for me as sour ;-). I like the power-trippiness of these innocent boys being forcibly pleasured by innocent girls. I’m very much about non-power-trippy relationships, but clearly I like my erotic stories to be fantasies I would not actually want to live. Viva la fantaisie!

    • willcrimson says:

      And that’s the cool thing about erotic fantasies, isn’t it? It’s a really interesting question as to why NC—D/s fantasies gratify our sexual psyches when, most of us I think, would find no gratification or enjoyment in the actual experience. It’s as if our bodies and sexual psyches sometimes live separate lives. Our imaginations seek out sexual experiences that are often the very opposite of the principles we live by. That contradiction endlessly fascinates me. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy writing erotica, and the reason I especially enjoy responses like yours. Maybe the best erotica gives us a window into our psyches, prompts us to ask questions and muse at what a gift the erotic imagination can be and is. :)

      What do you think? Want me to play around with the F/b F/m dynamic some more? See what else we can come up with? And that reminds me. One of the first books I read on sexuality (and the book that continues to inform all my stories) is My Secret Garden by Nancy Friday. I read that when I was a young teenager. Among the most memorable fantasies, for me, was that of a woman who had to choose which boy she wanted to sleep with. She fantasized that she masturbated each boy and the one whose come spurted the furthest was the one she would sleep with. That fantasy often sneaks into my stories.

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